


Think Atlas

by Emono



Series: Saw AU [1]
Category: Band of Brothers, Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama & Romance, I attempt Saw esque plot twists and tension, M/M, Mild Smut, PTSD, Psychological Horror, Saw AU, Saw Traps, Survival Horror, This is NOT gore porn like the movies, gore is implied but the screen fades to black, i fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: It was storybook in a modern sort of way. The good army husband at last returned from war. The hard working detective supporting him as he worked on his mental health. From the outside looking in, they were good men on the blissful track to a happy home and a family. But they’ve caught the attention of a media-famous serial killer, the very one Carwood has been investigating. There are secrets they are keeping from each other, dark and deep, and to save one another they must shine a light on what they have tried to keep hidden.Will Detective Lipton has what it takes to decipher and break down a Jigsaw trap once he’s in the heart of one? And if he solves it, will he still want to save his husband once he’s seen behind the curtain?





	1. Chapter 1

There was such a potent relief to coming home.

 

Carwood moaned under his breath and sagged against the door as he flipped the lock with a satisfying _click_. The noise and pressure of the world fell away as he trudged further into the house. He ached from the soles of his feet up to the top of his shoulders. He’d left when the sun had just started to rise and it had been set for an hour or two now. He hung up his jacket and thumbed apart the laces of his shoes to kick them off. He felt lighter as he took off holster and badge, putting them in their place on the counter with his keys and wallet. His husband always got on him about leaving his stuff everywhere and having to scramble in the morning to find them, so they made an agreement. He’d agree to keep his stuff in one place and his husband promised to have breakfast ready, either fresh or easily heated up in some tupperware.

 

It was such a relief to have Ron back. He’d been been in and out of the military since high school and been called on a few times for the National Guard so it wasn’t new to have him gone. Three years ago, not long after their marriage, he’d been deployed and taken part in two different wars in places that couldn’t be disclosed to a civilian like Carwood. He knew Ron had been high ranking and that he’d gotten into some serious nightmares over there but not much else. He never pushed Ron because he could see how much it affected his usually calm husband. Ron had returned six months ago and Carwood had been so glad to have him home that he never pried for details.

 

If Ron wanted to tell him, he would.

 

Ron’s presence had brought a warmth back to their home. He could hear the shower going and the low drone of the TV newscast. The house smelled like meat, teriyaki, hardy potatoes, a simple meal but undoubtedly delicious. It was later than Ron liked to eat with that ingrained military schedule but he knew his husband had a steak ready to cook in the fridge just for him and would throw it on when he realized he was home. That thought made his heart swell with affection but it sent a shot of urgency through him.

 

Carwood kept an eye and ear toward the hallway that led to the bathroom as he cut across the room. He kept a safe at home that he told Ron was used for case files that were too confidential or important to leave lying around. He kept their mortgage in there, an emergency set of keys, birth certificates, the title to the car, and a locked drawer only he had the key to. In that drawer was where he kept his secret.

 

Ears tuned to the sound of running water, Carwood took two bundles of bills out of his pockets. It was a cool four grand. That was their mortgage payment, a month of groceries, gas, new shoes, and above all for emergencies. Something was always going wrong with the car or the bills or the house - it got so fucking expensive. More than a detective’s salary could pay for and still have room to breathe. Ron’s military pay had padded those expenses while he’d been gone. Though Carwood’s salary wasn’t exactly meager he wasn’t paid nearly as well as he should’ve been for all the shit he did. Ron was a provider, he always had been, and it felt good to have a partner who could contribute and hold their own.

 

That is, until he couldn’t. Something had happened with Ron’s paperwork when he’d been sent home. Funds didn’t transfer, accounts didn’t match up, and the military bristled as it always did when things didn’t go smoothly. It had been months of ‘processing and sorting out the situation’ but they hadn’t seen a cent of Ron’s vet pay. It wasn’t a substantial amount of money but a couple months of one income wrung them dry a lot faster than he’d predicted. Ron kept to the house and attended the mandatory psych evals the army had ordered, as terms for the return of his vet pay, but their insurance didn’t cover it all. Melatonin, benadryl, all the over-the-counter sleep aids couldn’t touch Ron’s insomnia and that was one more medicine they had to copay every two weeks.

 

The fees and bills had started to truly pile up two months ago. Their bank account got thin and their savings began to disappear to the point where Carwood didn’t even want to tell his husband. That’s when he’d run into Lewis Nixon, a mob boss masquerading as a silver spoon sucking trust fund baby. He’d been a smug bastard from the moment he set eyes on him, all charm and cocky smile as he easily shelled out the bail money for some street dealer who apparently was useful to the man’s business.

 

At first, Carwood had tried to find something to pin on Baby Boy Nixon but there was little to dig up. He was by all accounts an upstanding young man of the culture and finance community. He was married to a handsome man from an honest farm family in Pennsylvania, someone named Richard Winters who had a squeaky clean record. On the surface they were a perfect, influential, intelligent, infuriatingly charming couple. Everything Carwood found said that rang true for Winters but Lewis became a different story.

 

Lewis approached Carwood on his own in a low brow dive at the bottom of three beers with two new bills in his pocket. He’d been weak, tipsy, and past the point of desperate when the man had leaned against the counter beside him and propositioned him in that honey-silver voice. It had been so damn convincing, so effortlessly _easy_ it was embarrassing. The fucking snake had offered him money in exchange for him minding his own business.

 

There must have been something in Carwood’s eyes because Lewis had slid five hundred dollars in his pocket and whispered in his ear that there could be more if he wanted. He’d nearly decked Lewis for the implication but the man had laughed at him and laid a hand on his own, clacking their wedding rings.

 

_“My bed is warm enough, Detective. I’m talking strictly cash. But I like your spirit.”_

 

And just like that he’d made a deal with the devil. Lewis paid up fat wads of cash for small favors. A missing file here, a misled informant there, a bullet casing getting lost in the shuffle of evidence. The reward had far outweighed the risk at first. Then the favors started to turn more dangerous. Witnesses sent to death traps where they’d be taken out in a crossfire or be found overdosed on a drug they’d long quit. Evidence would need to go missing - not just a casing or a smudged fingerprint but _weapons_. Evidence didn’t just go missing but new pieces were planted on scenes to mislead whoever arrived.

 

Carwood was pulled out of one hell and shoved into another. He could feed his husband and give him the life he deserved but the cost was that of his peace of mind and risked the only job he’d ever wanted.

 

He heaved himself to his feet and managed to get to the bedroom without collapsing under his own weight. He unbuttoned his cuffs and collar to get some breathing room and shed his socks with a sigh. The room smelled like them - musk, their mixed cologne, and the detergent they shared. There was a hint of Ron’s shampoo and soap that drifted in from the bathroom down the hall and it helped calm his thoughts. Ron did that for him. In everything they did, Ron was his rock and his patience and reason.

 

Carwood closed his eyes and imagined their house as it would be five years from now. Expanded, full of the things they loved, more _alive_. Ron would have his study for his research to work on the books he often spoke of starting when his military career was finished. Carwood would have his own office that he’d make great use of when he moved up the ranks, _if_ he moved up the ranks. They’d expand the kitchen like they dreamed of doing, of making the backyard into something more than the tangle it was, maybe even get a dog. But more than that, Carwood hoped in the next few years they’d have the talk about adoption.

 

They had bought this house together away from the main thrum of the city with one idea cementing their decision - _family_. Not just one but several kids of any age. A house full of laughter and love was all they had ever wanted, something they never got to have growing up.

 

Carwood was pulled out of his domestic fantasy when the bed behind him dipped. He hummed happily as a strong arm looped around his waist and a chin hooked over his shoulder.

 

“I snuck up on you, Detective,” Ron teased in his ear. “You’re getting old.”

 

“You’re older than me,” Carwood snarked as he stroked the man’s damp arm, breathing in fresh soap and clean skin. “I was just thinking about what we’re going to do with the house.”

 

“I got the water heated fixed. I’m working on the drywall upstairs tomorrow.”  
  


“I wasn’t implying that you were laying around eating bonbons, _darling_ ,” Carwood chuckled, leaning into his husband. “I was just thinking about everything we’ll do with it. It’s going to be great.”

 

Ron hummed in agreement and kissed his shoulder. “I put a pan on while you were daydreaming. I’ll get you a plate ready.”

 

“Hey.” He tightened his grip on Ron’s arm when he tried to pull back. “Why don’t I take you out to dinner tomorrow? Wherever you want to go.”

 

“Out?”

 

There was weight in that word. It said a dozen things in the space between them. Most of it circled back to the plain and simple fact they were broke.

 

“Just once?” Carwood urged. “Let’s not think about money for a minute.” _I have cash to burn, let me just make you happy for a night._ “You cook all the time and we both know I’m terrible. It’ll be fun. When’s the last time we went out on a date?”

 

“You don’t have to wine and dine me, you put a ring on my finger, remember?” Ron deadpanned, though he could sense the underlying tension.

 

“Let me treat you.”

 

“Let me make you something instead,” Ron offered, stubbled cheek rubbing against his throat. It tickled in a way that made his cock twitch. “Just you and me.”

 

“ _Or_ , let me treat you instead,” Carwood countered.

 

“You do enough,” Ron protested. He could hear the underlying financial worry in his husband’s calm tone. “I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow. Just call me if you’re going to be late.”

 

“I will.”

 

He felt Ron slump against him in a sort of relief and he remembered the money sitting idle in his safe.

 

“Hey.” Carwood turned and brought Ron almost into his lap, catching his dark gaze. “I love you.”

 

Ron’s eyes softened and he smiled in that gentle, rare way that only came out when they were alone. It was a gift for him and him alone. Carwood thumbed just below his husband’s mouth and marveled at how handsome he was. How he ever managed to get a catch like Ron was beyond him. He was such a sight - thick dark hair, long lashes, strong jaw, that whiskey voice. He was a walking wet dream and he belonged to Carwood. They belonged to each other.

 

“I love you too,” Ron murmured.

 

Their kiss was gentle at first, just a loving press of lips. They basked in the simple pleasure but the moment Ron’s tongue swiped across his own he couldn’t resist. They only fought for dominance when that kind of game suited them both. They both had a healthy sex drive and an exciting sex drive considering how many years they’d been fucking. Every time made Carwood feel truly alive. But tonight there was no room for games or kinks, not even a rough bite or a slight choke felt right with how tender they were both feeling.

 

So he didn’t fight it when Ron hooked his fingers in his gun garter and started to pull him further onto the bed, tangling up their legs. “Gonna be good to me?”

 

“Aren’t I always?”

 

The kisses and touches blurred, clothes falling away to leave a heavenly slide of skin. All the lies and deceit fell away as Ron wrapped a calloused hand around their lube-slick cocks. Nothing mattered but their bed, this moment, _them_. Carwood allowed himself to enjoy it. The way they panted into each other’s mouths, the building pleasure between his thighs, the glint of Ron’s wedding ring against their hard flesh...all the good made the bad fall away.

 

What he did out in the world didn’t matter here in their bed. He had his husband. That’s all he needed.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Taking Ron to therapy was never a particularly pleasant experience. It was usually the equivalent of taking a grumpy child to the dentist. Often it was a car ride filled with put upon sighs. Ron wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times but he was a different brand of quiet today. It wasn’t comfortable like his usual quietness. This silence had an anxious air to it, a heaviness that Carwood could feel on his skin like heat.

 

Carwood pulled into a space and parked the car with a sigh. He knew his husband hated being chauffeured around but there wasn’t much they could do about that now. They’d sold Ron’s car a while ago to make their mortgage payment. Carwood was biding his time until he could buy his husband another without arousing suspicion. Even with the money he was earning on the side he had IA up his ass and had to be careful about his purchases for now.

 

He knew Ron hated being dependent but they were waiting on his veteran money to come in. Carwood _refused_ to let Ron go back to work so soon after returning from overseas. He didn’t say it aloud but he knew the PTSD was swimming just beneath the stalwart surface. He never mentioned it for fear of upsetting him but he heard Ron’s screams when he was trapped in a nightmare. He saw the reclusion, the hundred yard stare. Ron wasn’t alright to go back to work yet no matter what he said.

 

Until the time was right, Carwood would gladly drive his husband around. Ron also had two out of his many siblings in the city and they were always ready to drive him wherever he needed to be. They were close and he was grateful.

 

Carwood leaned back in his seat and rolled his head to look at his husband. He touched the man’s thigh with a gentle noise. “Ron. You know you don’t have to do this, right? We can go home right now.”

 

Ron shook his head but still his stare remained out the window.

 

“Hey.” He gave him another squeeze. “Please look at me?”

 

It took a minute or two but Ron’s eyes eventually dragged over to him. Carwood smiled and rubbed a thumb over his knee. “Really. You don’t have to go.”

 

Ron huffed bitterly. “I need to. We both know that.”

  
  
“If it’s not helping…”

 

“It does some days,” Ron admitted reluctantly. Carwood kept his mouth shut. He knew sharing like this was hard for Ron so he stayed quiet and let his husband take his time. “It’s a requirement for my vet pay.”

 

“Does she make you talk about what happened overseas?”

 

Ron nodded tightly but there was a plea not to pry in his eyes.

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Carwood assured him. “I told you, I’m here whenever you need me.”

 

“What if I can’t ever talk about it?” Ron challenged.

 

He shrugged. “That’s okay too. _You’re_ important to me. Not whatever happened over there.”

 

“What if...what if I did things…” Ron trailed off in a mumble. His eyes dropped down his husband’s hand and he blanketed it.

 

“Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you,” Carwood swore with a firm squeeze. He cocked his head toward the building. “Do you want me to come with you? I could stay in the waiting room or sit in the session?”

 

“No.” Any curtness was dismissed as Ron took up his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’ve had enough of our Lifetime movie for today.”

 

“You’re right,” Carwood chuckled with a grin. “I’m going to go put on some plaid and steel toed boots. Maybe chop some wood or sharpen a machete to regain my masculinity.”

  
  
“You have fun butching up. I’ll be in there trying to figure out what to say to convince her I’m okay.”

 

“Tell her the truth,” he urged. “Do you need a ride home?”

 

“I’ll find one,” Ron replied with another kiss to his rough knuckles. “I’ll grab groceries on my way back. Remember to call.”

 

“I will.”

 

Ron popped off his seatbelt and opened up the car door.

 

“Hey!” Carwood protested, leaning across the console. “Where’s my kiss?”

 

Ron’s lips curved in a grin and he took the small victory. “Didn’t I give you enough last night?”

 

“Never.”

 

Ron moved in and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. Carwood gasped in surprise as fingers curled along the back of his neck and his mouth was claimed. He liked the confidence and the pressure. Ron bit at his lip and he felt a stir of heat in his belly. He pulled back and Carwood tried to chase his mouth. When he found his voice it was breathless. “So what are you picking up for dessert?”

 

“I’ve got something you can eat,” Ron ran a thumb over his damp lip. “ _Later_.”

 

Carwood imagined Ron face down, ass up, freshly showered and letting him rim him until he sobbed. “I can’t wait.”

 

o0o  


Unfortunately work ran long, as usual. Carwood tried his best to get out at a reasonable time but there was a shooting on top of a hit-and-run and the witnesses had been reluctant to cough up what they’d seen. He tried to call Ron but all he got was voicemail. He left a heartfelt apology and an offer of one hell of a blowjob to make it up to him but never got a call back. All he ended up with was a stiff neck and a sore shoulder where a suspect had mule kicked him.

 

Carwood stumbled through the front door with a grunt. He could see the light on in the kitchen and he felt a sense of dread. He hoped Ron hadn’t stayed up this late and was waiting with some meal he’d slaved away on. He didn’t want to disappoint his husband with yet another too-late night and ruined plans but it couldn’t be helped. He started toward the kitchen as he built up a proper apology but paused when he passed the hallway. He backed up and peered down. Once his eyes adjusted he could see into their dim bedroom and the dark lump of his husband beneath the covers. The lights were all off save for a lamp but it was definitely Ron-shaped.

 

“Ron?” Carwood called softly. “Did you get a migraine?”

 

The blanket lump shifted and he smiled with a sad fondness. Ron didn’t get smacked with a migraine but when he did they practically incapacitated him. Carwood headed into kitchen to grab a beer and his smile faltered when he saw the grocery bags still on the table.

 

“Babe, you left the groceries out!” He huffed when he didn’t get an answer. He stuck his hand inside the bags and found the wrapped meat there warm, the veggies wet with condensation. It must’ve been a damn awful migraine to knock Ron out so badly. He salvaged what he could and binned the rest. He called his husband’s name again as he shed his jacket and hung it up. He rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt a little to properly thumb away his tie.

 

He walked into the bedroom and kept his voice low to keep his husband’s temples from throbbing. “Did therapy go badly?”

 

Ron didn’t move, didn’t make a noise.

 

Carwood sat on the beside the man with a resigned sigh. “Ron, it’s okay...all I care about is you getting better. I’m not going to say some kind of bullshit like I wanted things to be how they were before because I know war changes people.” His hands curled around the edge of the bed and his knuckles went white. “Maybe you’re different now. Hell, maybe I am too. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”

 

Carwood pried a hand off the mattress and rubbed the tense muscles in his neck. His mind flashed to the people he’d sent to jail, the ones he’d set up, the ones he’d bribed and blackmailed and _ruined_.

 

“The point is, I want you happy. That’s all I ever wanted. You took care of me all through my rookie days and we were just friends then, barely fucking enough to call it dating.”

 

He’d never forget that time when they were just young idiots looking to get their rocks off. Ron made sure he ate and slept, lent him money when he needed it. Ron had been his best friend, his partner in crime. They’d been attached at the hip even after they started fucking. Spending all night in bed together wrestling for dominance, giving in with laughter, parting their thighs for carnal pleasure. They’d trusted each other with everything, they still did. Except they didn’t, did they? Carwood had blood on his hands. This house was the result of it. This life, their car, the food that had spoiled...it had all come from Nixon’s pocket in return for _favors_.

 

“I know I wasn’t easy to handle back then. Way worse than I am now, don’t you think?” Carwood tried to laugh it off but it sounded strained. He reached back and pet Ron’s hip but his husband barely shifted. “Ron? Look at me, please?”

 

Carwood tugged on the blanket and panic flooded through him when he saw an inhuman face. Ears, a snout, sickly pink-grey skin - a _pig_. He tried to scream but hands shot out, a piercing pain in his throat...

  
  
Then it all went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for commenting!!! Really, I'm truly excited to share this with you guys. I thought it had like ZERO audience but everyone's been enthusiastic so I'm pumped to get it out. I borrowed elements from the Saw movies AND the games for the trap scenarios. There's nothing too gory because I'm not good at capturing those important visuals. So mostly I concentrate on the drama. Scenes in full italics are flashbacks! (thank you Bek for editing this for me, as always)

_Lewis slipped a wad of fifties into his palm and he knew immediately it would cover their insurance payment. Ron had been fixing up the house lately and he kept needing stitches. His husband protested going to the ER but Carwood wouldn’t hear it._

 

_“I trust it won’t be too hard to make a little knife disappear?”_

 

_“Evidence gets lost all the time,” Carwood gruffed as he pocketed the money. He closed his coat against the wind and ducked his head. “You know this isn’t forever, right?”_

  
  
_“You’re not my only squeeze in the police department, you’re just my favorite,” Lewis chuckled lowly, smoke pouring over his lip. “You’re the one who keeps answering my calls and showing up. I mean, if you’ve lucked into some money, I’m happy for you. We can stop tonight.”_

_“No!” His voice was too loud_ _on the rooftop and he snapped his mouth closed, jaw clenching in frustrated pulses before he dared to open it again. “No, I need it. I just need you to know that it’s going to stop one day. My partner is getting suspicious.”_

 

_“I doubt that,” Lewis hummed. “You’re a sly fella, Detective. I have the utmost faith in your poker face. Don’t tell me that army brat of a husband of yours has caught on?”_

 

_Carwood bristled and he resisted the urge to sock the spoiled brat in the jaw. “Has yours?”_

 

_“Touche.”_

 

o0o

 

Carwood woke up slowly. His consciousness lapped at reality like waves on the shore, a pull and give. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark whether he opened his eyes or not. The second was that he had cramps in several parts of his body. Panic returned with a vengeance and his heart beat hot with adrenaline as he started groping around. He was inside something metal. Bars but not round - flat, wide, cold, and all around. A _cage_. He stuck his fingers through the grate beneath him and there was no floor he could sense. He grabbed onto the sides and stood up on knocking knees to get his bearings. He felt suspended and there was open air no matter where he stuck his fingers. He groped around for some kind of door but there was none.  

 

“Help!” Carwood shouted. He clenched the flat bars as best he could and shook them. There was no yield except for an aborted shake. _Definitely suspended from something._ “Help! Someone! I’m in here!”

 

His own voice echoed back at him and hope faded fast. Old cases flashed through his mind and cold fear started to clog up his chest. He’d seen half a dozen traps like this before and this felt like the start of one. Waking up alone, suspended, isolated in an abandoned area. It was a classic Jigsaw scenario. He tried to calm himself, to white-knuckle onto reason, but he could feel a cold sweat beading across his nape.

 

Out of the dozens of Jigsaw cases, there had only ever been a handful of survivors. And he wasn’t sure he had what it took to survive one.

 

The harsh lights came on all at once. Carwood hissed and covered his eyes but he could feel the sting all the way to his teeth. He clung to the cage and slowly blinked behind his fingers to try and adjust. Spots danced in the tunnel of his vision but eventually they cleared. He squinted and winced as he took in the lay of the room. It looked abandoned. Filthy, dusty, cluttered with discarded gurneys and boxes. From the tile and the ragged posters on the walls he thought it might be some kind of hospital. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years and maybe had gone through a looting or two.

 

There was nothing to give him a clue where he was. Nothing except for a TV mounted in the corner flickering to life. He would recognize that damn doll in the dark. Distinctive swirled cheeks, the cut jaw, those fucking _eyes_. The doll’s head turned toward the camera and he cursed himself for flinching.

 

_‘Hello, Detective Lipton. You are no doubt wondering why you’re here.’_

 

That voice. There was no doubt who had put him here.

 

_‘For years you have taken advantage of your position of power. You have planted evidence and falsely imprisoned those you have marked as criminals. Or those you have been paid handsomely to make disappear.’_

 

“Fuck.” How the hell had Jigsaw found him out?

 

_So far you have gotten away with it. You have kept your dirty double life from your loving husband. Now I keep him from you.’_

 

His stomach churned so violently he swore he could feel the acid licking at the back of his tongue. This couldn’t be happening. _Not Ron. Please God, not Ron._

 

_‘You are at the entrance to a maze I have created where you will be faced with more than a Minotaur. To get to your husband, you must confront those that have helped you manipulate man’s justice system all these years. Some you can help, some you cannot. Your husband is in a safe place at the heart of the maze away from their reach but make no mistake - his life hangs in the balance. To save him, all the secrets you have kept from one another must be laid on the table. Oh yes, he will be watching.’_

 

Carwood spotted the camera in the corner and was inclined to believe him. It was twisted in a way that was classically Jigsaw and he couldn’t wait to get his hands around the criminal’s throat.  

 

_‘Take heed, Detective Lipton, your husband is not who he appears to be. You marriage bed is built on lies. Tough choices will need to be made, Detective. But those choices are yours.’_

 

“You motherfucker!” Carwood screamed, palms thumping on the bars of his cage. “You leave him the fuck alone! It’s _me_ you want! I’m the one investigating your sick fucking traps, _I’m_ the one trying to catch you. You want a piece of me? Then come fucking get me but you leave him alone!”

 

Carwood choked on his protests when he spotted the second TV placed on a gurney down below. The screen flickered with white noise before an image snapped into place. He could see someone in a box of some sort. A man, dark hair and tall, broad - _Ron_.

 

“What have you done to him?” Carwood demanded hotly, throwing his shoulder against the cage in hopes of dislodging whatever was locking him in. “If you hurt him I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you, Jigsaw! I’ll fucking kill you!”

 

The bottom gave way without preamble. Carwood couldn’t catch himself on the cage and he went sprawling on the tile. The impact knocked the breath out of him but caught himself on his legs and ass enough to keep from spraining anything. He kicked off the floor and stumbled toward the TV, clutching it between his hands and studying the feed.

 

It _was_ Ron. He was stuck in a clear box cell with some kind of device he couldn’t really see on the side and a weird mix of tubing and machinery on top.

 

“Ron? Ron, can you hear me?” Carwood pleaded, searching the edges of the cart for a mic. Ron’s head shot up and he smacked his hands on the glass wall. His mouth moved and it looked like he was shouting but there was no sound. His heart was up in his throat and trembling so badly he thought he could taste blood. He was adrenaline sick, his hand shook as he touched the screen.

 

“I’m coming, Sparky.”

 

He chuckled weakly, eyes watering dangerously. He sniffed and tried to suck it up for now. Ron needed him strong, he needed him to use his head and get them through this. There were few who knew Jigsaw like he did. He’d been at the scene of almost every one of his traps though usually as a liaison as the FBI tore through the scene. Still, he learned. He wasn’t an expert but he knew what to expect.

 

He was going to have to shed blood.

 

There was a buzz and a door swung open. Carwood pried his eyes away from his husband and saw something laying on the floor outside the doorway. A string. _No_. Golden yarn to lead him into the maze like the Greek myth.

 

If he wanted to save Ron, he’d have to follow it.

 

o0o

 

Carwood knew there would be a game. There always was. But he had to bare witness to others games and it was almost too much to come across a room that held a young cop he’d set up to shoot down a few addicts that had become problematic to Nixon. He’d ruined the young woman’s life and now…

 

Now she was bound up in a barbed wire trap and there was a tape reading ‘Play Me’ at her feet.

 

And play was what he had to do.

 

And when he failed to save her, he had to leave her mangled corpse behind and hope his husband wouldn’t receive a similar fate.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Carwood lost the yarn in the dark of the hospital. The lighting was sparse and what he could find was harsh and stung his eyes. He knew it was to keep him disoriented and he did his best to keep focus with the stench of blood still on his hands. The abandoned building was eerily quiet save for the creak of settling wood and his own ragged breaths. A spotlight caught his attention and he jogged up to it.

 

It was a door. Simple enough but there was a string knotted to a hook on the doorframe and hanging at the end was another damn tape recorder. The little tape inside said ‘play me’ and he wanted to smash it out of spite. But if it got him even one step closer to Ron he would play along. It was the only chance he had. He knew if he raged against Jigsaw and refused to play, smashed his way through with with the blind fury he could feel welling under his heart - he knew if he did that, he’d be killing them both.

 

So he hit play.

 

_‘Hello, Detective. Inside this door is the embodiment of your husband has hidden from you. Are you man enough to face even a taste of his secret or will you do as you always have and turn the other cheek? How long will it be until the love you claim to feel splinters under the weight of your secrets?’_

 

“You piece of shit,” Carwood cursed. There was a key taped to the back of the recorder and he ripped it off before tossing the device. He looked around until he spotted a camera and flipped it off. “I’m not scared of you!”

 

Ready to prove his mettle, Carwood shoved the key into the padlock and forced it open. He chucked it and turned the knob but the second it clicked there was a roar from behind the wood. He was thrown backward as the door flew open and someone charged out. Carwood barely had time to duck and roll as a man stormed past him. But it wasn’t just a man - it was a meld of flesh and metal with how the person was bound up. Wrapped in chains with a harness on that caused metal spikes to jut out from his hulking body, and some kind of hood that seemed to blind him. His arms were forced at his sides and there was a gag in his mouth but the man was overflowing with rage.

 

The man bounced off the wall as Carwood jumped to his feet. “Hey! I’m not trying to hurt you. Calm down!”

 

The man whipped around at the sound of his voice and charged again. Carwood dodged by the skin of his teeth and his hip smacked into a gurney. He hissed and tried to rub it out but the man skidded off the wall and started toward him. He couldn’t even shove him away because of those damn spikes.

 

“Don’t play his game,” Carwood pleaded, quickly sidestepping the attempted tackle. “Just stop and I can help you! I can try and take those things off, I can - _fuck_!”

 

The man either couldn’t hear him or didn’t want to hear him. That hulking mass of metal and flesh raged toward him and he had no other choice but to run. He took off at a sprint and his lungs burned, heart pumping so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest as he traversed the halls. They all looked the same like any other damn hospital. Every door was boarded up or blocked off somehow no matter how he threw himself against them.

 

And then he saw it. _Horns_.

 

There was an open elevator shaft at the end of the hallway with horns painted on each corner of the archway. They were luminescent green like a beacon. He knew what would come of it and he only had a split second to decide. With the heat of the beast on his nape and the sound of muffled screaming all around he knew what things had come to. He crouched mid-run to swipe a plank off the floor and took the turn down the hall.

 

“Come and get it, asshole!”

 

He smacked the wood off the wall as he went to make sure the big bastard was following him just right. The bound man kept bouncing off the walls but he was close behind with those smothered up curses. Carwood could imagine what lies the Jigsaw had fed the man to get him this riled up to murder him.

 

But if it was between Ron or some stranger, there was no other _real_ choice.

 

Carwood turned at the edge of the chasm and braced himself. “Come get me, you big son of a bitch.”

 

He couldn’t deny his fear but his determination rose higher, smothering the flickers of terror. He dug his feet in and only had to wait a few painful heartbeats for the man to be upon him. At the last possible moment, Carwood tossed the plank into the shaft and moved to the side as quietly as he could. The clatter of the wood sent the man hurtling forward into the empty shaft. He couldn’t bring himself to watch the descent but he heard the screams and the meaty thud of impact that brought an end to it.

 

_It didn’t have to be like this._

 

Carwood spotted one of those God damn cameras and his wrath flared up white hot. “Hey! What kind of fucking game is this? Huh?” He lunged at a door and kicked it, gritting his teeth as pain shot up his leg. “Tell me where he is!”

 

The _clunk_ of a spotlight coming on made him jump and he cursed himself for it. A door down the corridor unlocked itself and swung open to reveal said light. It cast illumination in a halo around a new braid of yarn. The gold glittered invitingly and he bit back a wave of nausea.

 

He had to keep going.

 

o0o0o0o

 

Carwood slammed the door behind him and laid his back against it as he tried to catch his breath. He was deaf save for the loud rush of his own blood and the war drum of his own heartbeat. He couldn’t breathe and his blood-soaked hands were shaking. Three faces were branded on the back of his eyelids - the rookie cop, that bull of a man, and the man currently screaming in agony behind the door. An innocent, a stranger, and a lawyer he had bribed to look over the fudged evidence he’d submitted to get Nixon’s marks behind bars.

 

They’d been mutilated because of him. He couldn’t save them, not one.

 

Carwood forced his breaths to even out. He had to calm down. He had to keep his head and remember the goal, the endgame. _Ron_. Ron was the only one that mattered. His husband hadn’t done anything wrong and he was going to get him out of this place no matter what. Even if he had to give himself up in the end.

 

o0o

 

Carwood came upon a ragged hospital room divider when he took a blind turn. He scowled at the crusted, painted letters that looked like old blood.

 

**Dare To Look**

 

“Fuck you,” Carwood spat as he shoved it aside. It hit the wall with a clatter and revealed the decorated hallway. “What the fuck…?”

 

Pictures dangled from the ceiling like spiders. They were glossy, tempting, but their subject matter made his stomach churn. Some were simple enough - _Ron_. Ron in his uniform, standing tall and proud. Some of Ron overseas obviously preparing for combat, standing among his fellow soldiers, brandishing his gun.

 

Carwood stepped past those and paled at the sight of the others. They were images of mutilated bodies. Broken noses and cracked arms and split skin. _Blood_. There was so much blood. Whip marks, burns, horrid bruises. He choked down a mouthful of bile and shoulders through him. There was a door with a glowing green puzzle piece painted on it, he could see it just past this web…

 

But he could not ignore the third batch of pictures. They all held a soldier in full gear with bound and gagged victims. Men being marched, dragged, forced to kneel, with a boot on their throat, with a gun to their head, with electrodes being taped to their body. The soldier in every picture was the same. In some images his mouth was covered, or his hair, sometimes with goggles, but Carwood wasn’t stupid. He’d known that jawline and those dark eyes for years. He could find that face in a sea of people.

 

The soldier was Ron.

 

He heard a _thunk_ above his head and spotted the TV that had turned itself on. It was the same angle as before of his husband sitting in his cage. Whatever setup was on the other side must’ve had a screen below the camera shooting because Ron jumped as well, getting to his feet and pressing his hands to the glass. He could see him.

 

“What the hell is this, Ron?” Carwood demanded, ripping off the nearest picture and shoving it at the camera. “Huh? What the _fuck_ is this? I know it’s you!”

 

Ron seemed to squint at the screen but it didn’t appear that he could decipher it. Carwood hoped with all his heart that if his husband saw a picture of _himself_ with an indifferent hand around a captive’s throat he’d _react_.

 

“I don’t know what this is, but I don’t care!” Carwood bellowed, glaring at the camera knowing Jigsaw was watching. He ripped the picture in half and let it fall to the floor. He squared off with the door and tentatively laid his hand on the handle in fear of a shock. “He’s still my husband. And I’m coming to get him, motherfucker.”


	3. Chapter 3

**[Nate's trap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6_ZXmCpdFY&t=36s) **

 

* * *

 

 

_“You need to tell him.”_

 

_Ron hissed through his teeth and glared down at the blonde on his knees in front of him. “Just fucking do it, Nate.”_

 

_“I should start charging you for this, you know.”_

 

_“We both know you’re the best at it anyway.” It was a weak attempt at a joke and that’s what they both knew. “I’ll tell my husband when I’m ready. If I can get it out of my system maybe I won’t have to tell him at all.”_

 

_“You can say his name, Ron.”_

 

_“Don’t start this.”_

_  
_ _“Carwood,” Nate stated firmly, hand splayed on his thigh for balance. “His fucking name is Carwood and he loves you. You always went on about that shit. Picture perfect marriage torn apart by war, remember?”_

 

_“We’ll write a book later. And don’t use your teeth this time.”_

 

 _“I thought you liked it rough and tumble?”_ _  
_ _  
_   
  
_“We’re not in the desert anymore, I’d like to pretend we have a little bit of class.”_

 

_“Says the guy who invited me to a seedy motel.”_

 

_“Sneaking around is half the fun,” Ron grunted out, lying outright. “Just help me, okay?”_

 

o0o

 

Ron paced his cage and fought off the urge to throw himself against the plexiglass. He’d searched every inch and crevice of the box but there wasn’t a weakness he could find; at least nothing he’d be able to leverage with his fingers. It was sealed except for the tubes far above his head that fed out into some kind of pumping device. He could only guess what could pour into his box if he wasn’t found.

 

The only comfort he got out of this ordeal was that it was Carwood looking for him.

 

His husband had described the Jigsaw cases to him. Though Carwood had edited out some of the more gruesome details he’d been able to fill in the blanks. The contraption above him, the grit and clutter of the room, it had set off alarm bells. There was a screen mounted on the wall across from him and it followed his husband’s progress through a disgusting series of tests. It had flickered out when Carwood had approached a certain door and without that shred of hope he was going _mad_.

 

Ron was rubbing the shine right off his wedding ring. He didn’t know what pictures Jigsaw had hung in that last hallway but he didn’t care. All he wanted was that screen to turn back on so he could see Carwood’s face no matter how drawn it was. The separation left a fist of pressure below his collarbone. He struggled to breathe past it.

 

Carwood was more than his husband. For years he’d been his best friend, his most trusted confidant, his partner. They’d been through everything together. He had trusted Carwood with his thoughts and sought out his honest opinions long before they’d fallen into bed. It hadn’t taken long until he’d trusted his very life with Carwood. And now it was time to prove it.

 

Though he was sick with worry and white-knuckled through the paralyzing thought of losing his husband, he’d trust no one else to rescue him.

 

He could only hope that Carwood would still want to save him no matter what Jigsaw revealed about him.

 

o0o0o0o

 

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths but muffled through the nose. Carwood soon found out why.

 

The trap in the room was some sort of thin metal slab mounted between two wheels that connected to a mechanism. It looked like it could start turning any moment. There was a young man strapped down on the metal rather tightly. He’d been forced into some kind of vest that clung close to his body and held smooth objects on it, like metal casings. He’d never seen a bomb up close before but he’d seen enough scrap in evidence lockers to take a guess he was packed.

 

Unlike the rest of the trap that seemed designed to pivot, there was a mounted stand with three metal spikes protruding from it. It was the perfect death for eyes and a mouth. It didn’t take a lot of brainpower to put together what would happen if the slab started to rotate.

 

“Jesus Christ.” Carwood’s stomach churned sourly. He edged forward searching for some kind of pitfall - a hanging razor trap, a bomb, tripwire, anything. But it seemed the restrained man was the only thing in the room besides some discarded gurney pieces and broken medical equipment. He was starting to think this ‘hospital’ was more an asylum. _Appropriate_.

 

No. There was one other device. Some kind of caged device around a quiet engine that held circuitry. There was a welded together series of pipes and bars. He couldn’t quite figure it out from staring but the victim was more important.

 

“Hey, kid, it’s okay,” Carwood tried to soothe, easing into the man’s line of vision with his hands out. He realized that crown of iron around the victim’s head was tight enough to keep him from turning or moving at all. His wide blue eyes were darting everywhere. “Don’t struggle or you’ll set off the trap, alright? Try to stay calm for me, I’ll do my best to get you… _Christ_. What did he do to you?”

 

The kid had a lovely set of full, pink lips but they were marred by black stitches that knit his mouth shut. The blood was dried but the skin was red. Carwood looked around for a knife but instead his eyes caught on the picture taped to the horrifying triad of spikes. It had been torn down the middle but it was this same blonde kid in an army tan tent - dog tags, ODs, smiling in a guarded way but there was light in his eyes.

 

“I bet you were telling me not to call you a kid,” Carwood attempted to joke. “You’re not a kid, you’re a marine. I’m sorry, it’s habit. My husband was a marine too.” He moved around and very gently touched his shoulder, leaning in to finally get in his eyeline. “I’m Detective Lipton. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

 

Those blue eyes shot to him in panic and he could see recognition within them. He’d never seen this marine before but the man was staring at him like he knew him.   


A pane of glass shattered in a sudden, explosive movement. Carwood’s arms shot out to cover the marine’s face but the glass pattered harmlessly off metal and skidded the floor. The marine grunted something that could’ve been a curse and Carwood had to echo it. It was a cage that had crashed through the glass and inside was one of those damn Jigsaw dolls. It was a mockery of how Carwood had found himself in this place. All except for another half-torn photo nailed to the base of it.

 

Carwood started toward it and the marine was kicking and grunting a stream of expletives but he was effectively pinned, helpless. “I’m not leaving you. I just need to look.”

 

The doll’s mouth moved and a recording clicked to life within it. _‘Hello, Detective. Before you is a man you have never met but knows you and your husband quite intimately. Look closer. See that I am not lying.’_

 

Carwood tugged the picture free and took it back over to the bound marine. The man was staring at him pleadingly but was ignored as he took down the picture below the spikes. He held them together and found they met seamlessly. On one side was the blonde marine with his guarded smile, on the other was his husband with the sunlight in his eyes and a thin smile curving his lips.

 

_‘You’ve heard his name before.’_

 

“Nate,” Carwood breathed, brows pinched up, the slices of picture fluttering to the floor. “You’re the war buddy. I thought you were across the country. I thought you two didn’t see each other anymore.”

 

_‘He is the only witness to your husband’s crimes both in war and at home. He has bared witness to the bloodthirst your husband has hidden from you. He has kept his secrets. They have left you in the dark and now their lives rest in your hands.’_

 

“Crimes?” Carwood echoed, staring hard down at the marine. But he was silenced and could only beg him with his eyes.

 

_‘Once the device he is bound to begins to rotate, it will pierce his eyes and mouth if you do not delay its movements for at least thirty seconds. To do this, you must step into the other machine and lift the bars to the highest position to close the circuit, slowing down his device. If you fail, he will be silenced forever. Make your choice, Detective. Will you learn to forgive and help someone in need? Or will you continue to be selfish to obtain what you want?’_

 

“Fuck you!” Carwood barked, spitting toward the doll. There was a _click_ and a timer on the wall illuminated with one minute. Just like that, it started to run down. He buckled down his fury and channeled it. Carwood left Nate screaming behind the stitches and hurried to the other machine. He felt around the bars and tried to push it up but it was heavier than he thought. He couldn’t force it. There was a dark red light bulb behind a bit of cage, though it flickered when he moved the bars. There were metal spikes mounted on plates at each side and he realized what he had to do.

 

“Goddamn fucking bullshit,” Carwood cursed as he stepped under the bars. He slid his shoulders into the slots provided and started to rise to full height. It worked like the clockwork it had been designed after. As he rose he could feel the spikes pinching into his ribs but he grit his teeth through it. Skin gave and blood gushed hot across his skin as he rose up onto his toes but he didn’t stop. He _refused_. He’d play this game but he wasn’t going to lose. He wasn’t going to give Jigsaw the satisfaction.

 

The light turned green and he waited. Muscles strained and shook. Those spikes felt like white fire between his ribs but still he hung on. “You’re not getting this one, asshole!”

 

This was Ron’s friend. Whenever he spoke about Nate it was with nostalgia, with fondness. What little he talked about the war always involved this man. Ron didn’t have a lot of friends and if he trusted this marine with his secrets then Carwood couldn’t let him die. It wouldn’t be right. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this fate even if he was involved in those bloody pictures.

 

No one deserved this.

 

He could hear the morbid flatbed Nate was strapped to starting to creak and move. Gears reluctantly churned but it was slow going. Carwood sweated and panted through the pain. He didn’t let it pierce his mind, he refused to let it in. Nate’s smothered cries fueled him and he counted off the seconds under his breath.

 

There was a buzzer and he thought he’d failed. He popped his eyes open but the light was still green. He dared to look at Nate and though the device had rolled and pivoted him closer to the spikes he was unmarred. Nate was staring cross eyed at the spike but they weren’t touching his skin. _Close_. Too close.

 

The restrains gave all at once and Nate nearly fell off the platform.

 

“Shit! I’m coming, kid, hold on,” Carwood assured as he ducked out from the bars. He ran over to the device and started working on the buckles that had been fastened beneath the manacles. There was a vest with thick packets of explosives still strapped to Nate and he couldn’t see a way of getting it off. “Come here, it’s okay, rest your weight on me.”

 

Nate obediently slumped over his shoulder and the man felt frail in his arms. He was shaking and small, so painfully young and riddled with fear.

 

“You’re going to be alright,” Carwood half-lied as he eased the marine to the floor. He spotted the flat devices that the straps of the vest forced against either side of the man’s spine and realized he was bombed. “Nate, I’m going to need you to stay calm for me. You’re strapped with explosives.”

 

Nate’s eyes rolled up to meet his and the resignation on his face was clear.

 

“Yeah, figured you knew that already. I bet you worked with a lot of this stuff during the war.” The words were barely out of his mouth before the doors reopened and swung out, startling them both. In the cage, the doll’s head rotated and started to speak once more.

 

_‘Congratulations, Detective. You have shown that forgiveness even in the face of bitterness is possible. I ask you now to leave this man behind.’_

 

“What?” he huffed in disbelief, Nate’s hands curling into his shirt.

 

_‘He has a game of his own to play and if he passes he will go free. As will you. But now you must walk away. You cannot help him any longer. A game must have rules, Detective. If you fail to follow the rules the explosives strapped to this man will detonate. I have provided for you a choice. You can learn the truth by shedding your own blood or his.’_

 

And then it went quiet.

 

But there was no nasty surprise. Nothing that would hurt him right off, at least. Inside the cage was a piece of paper, a combat knife, and Ron’s dog tags. He picked the tags up reverently and put them to his lips. They were stone cold but they gave him some comfort. He laid them around his neck and tucked them into his shirt. _I swear I’ll find you._

 

The note sat beneath the combat knife.

 

**Salvation or damnation?**

 

Carwood took the knife and stalked across the room to the door he’d come in from. He snatched one of the gory pictures off a string and walked back in, kneeling in front of Nate. The marine didn’t flinch but he didn’t look at the picture. He kept eye contact. He was smart, he knew appealing to his humanity would sway him away from a decision that would hurt him. “Did he do this?”

 

Nate nodded slowly.

 

“He hurt these people?”

 

Another nod, blonde lashes flickering in shame.

 

Carwood sucked his teeth and let the photo drop. He saw the half image of Nate on the floor and cocked his head at the marine. “And you knew this whole time?”

 

Nate sighed through his nose.  
  
  
  
“And he’s done something here just as bad?” he needled. Nate quickly shook his head. “Not as horrible as what Jigsaw’s shown me, but still bad?”

 

That got another nod and his stomach bottomed out. Carwood swallowed dryly and tried to fight off the pounding in his head. He couldn’t let this change him. Whatever Ron had done it didn’t change that he loved him. He closed his eyes and counted to ten just as he often had to tell Ron to do to keep from punching the coffee maker for taking too long.

 

And when he opened them he could breathe again and Nate’s eyes still held that desperation. This was Ron’s friend. It wasn’t some shitty lawyer or a stranger or a rookie he hardly knew, this was someone important.

 

“Listen to me, Nate,” Carwood urged, taking the marine’s hand and laying the knife within it. “He thinks I’m so desperate to know what Ron’s hiding that I’d kill you to get it faster. I don’t want to play his game but if he’s going to make me then I’m playing to win. Are you with me?”

 

Nate’s fingers curled around the knife and he nodded firmly, fire sparking in his eyes.

 

“If I try to take you with me or help you with those stitches, I think that vest is going to go off,” Carwood explained, jaw tight as he stared at those deadly packs of metal so close to the man’s body. The holes the spikes had poked into him throbbed in sympathy. “So I have to leave you here and you’re going to have to go through some sort of test. I know this fucker and he’s probably got a tape recorder hidden for you in this room. Whatever he says to do, do it. I want you to live.”

 

Nate glared at him that said, _I want to live too, dumbass_. Carwood went to stand but the marine grabbed his shirt to stop him. Nate tapped his chest where the dog tags were then spread his hand over his heart with a meaningful stare.

 

“I don’t doubt he loves me,” Carwood assured him with a weak smile. “But he’s not the only one who has something to hide. I’m just afraid if I don’t get there in time, he’s going to learn what _I’ve_ done. Maybe he won’t be so forgiving.”

 

o0o0o0o

 

_“Just help me, okay?”_

 

_Ron watched as Nate skillfully pinched up the skin of his stomach and put the needle in the edge of the knife wound. The guy at the bar had given him the slip but not before a cheap parting shot. He could usually seal up his own injuries but the guy had taken out his knee as well and calling Nate had been the only alternative left. If he’d stayed bleeding on the sidewalk he would’ve been picked up by the cops and that was a whole can of worms he didn’t need opened._

 

_“How are you going to hide this?” Nate asked as he sewed the edge of the wound closed one complex loop at a time. The numbing cream and Jack he’d downed helped keep the pain at a manageable level were doing their jobs. “Don’t you two fuck all the time?”_

 

_“He’s been working a lot of late nights, I can squeeze at least two weeks of him not seeing me shirtless,” Ron dismissed. “It’s not a concern.”_

 

_“That’s not healthy,” Nate sing-songed, getting a glare that didn’t phase him in the least. “You used to brag about the sex all the time.”_

 

_Ron shrugged. “Married life.”_

 

_“It’s not your marriage that’s the problem, it’s this bullshit,” Nate shot back. “You’re keeping all this from him and I bet fucking money he can feel it. He’s letting it go for now because he’s been busy working hard to feed you both but eventually he’s going to crack, Speirs. You’re fucking with your husband here.”_

 

_Ron sucked his teeth but didn’t say anything._

 

_“If he’s half as good as you say he is, he’ll understand this.”_

 

_“Unless you’ve seen what we’ve seen, you can’t understand,” he muttered._

 

_Nate rolled his eyes. “Bullshit. You have no idea what he’s seen on that job. He could understand a lot more than you’re giving him credit for. He’s not a normal civilian. He’s killed people too, I’m sure.”_

 

 _Ron flinched and Nate shut his mouth with a sigh. He knotted off the string and leaned in close to catch the thread between his teeth and bite it off._ _  
_ _  
_   
  
_“Hey! I said don’t use your fucking teeth.”_

 

o0o0o0o

 

Carwood took the wrong corner right into a nail bomb trap. The door sealed behind him and the only choice he had was to run forward through a mesh of rooms. Every place he went seemed to have at least one corner packed with deadly jars and the beep of a timer echoed off the tile. He whipped around a corner too fast and nearly toppled headlong into the dark. He could feel a rush of wind from above from a caved in hole in the roof and down below the floor gave way for several floors. There were deep shadows down there and it was impossible to see a proper jump off.

 

“Shit, fuck,” Carwood hissed, spotting the nail bombs mounted on either side of the ledge. There was only one choice in front of him. _Literally_. He had to jump to the ledge on the other side. There was a door with a puzzle piece painted on it. The bastard was herding him exactly where he wanted to go.

 

Carwood didn’t have time to stew on it. He backed up, took a breath, and ran with all his strength. He jumped and tried not to acknowledge the fear of a drop or the sting of nails. He felt a burst of relief as his shoes hit the tile and he kept running, throwing himself at the door as he twisted the handle.

 

It barely slammed closed and locked behind him when he heard the bombs go off. He didn’t have time to catch his breath and take in his surroundings before the lights came on. Carwood hissed and covered his eyes to lessen the sting but he could hear a timer start. Jigsaw was keeping him disorientated and it was working. He felt woozy and sick from thirst and adrenaline but that didn’t stop him.

 

Carwood dropped his hands and blinked rapidly to clear the spots from his vision. The first thing he saw was a timer mounted above the door with five minutes on it rapidly counting down. The room was pure tile and concrete with an overturned desk and mold in the corners. The second thing he noticed was a glass pane on the left side of the room. He was in some sort of observation room.

 

There were more nail bombs strapped to the corners of the room. They made his heart pound but it was the man behind the glass that truly frightened him. He looked wild, ragged, and was slick up past his elbows in blood.

 

“Christ!” Carwood threw himself back against the wall, gaping at the sight of his partner. “Lieb? What the _fuck_?”

 

His bloody partner merely stared at him, chest heaving as he tried to catch his own breath. Why the hell was Liebgott here? His partner had known about some of his dirty dealings with Nixon but he’d always kept his mouth shut and his eyes averted. He always had a feeling Liebgott was running his own dirty show but he’d respectfully kept his nose out of it.

 

Don’t ask, don’t tell. Everyone had to earn their money their own way and what they did after work was their own business. And this is where it had led them.

 

“Christ, Lieb, what did you do?”

 

Liebgott swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and left a red streak behind, the knife still clutched in his hand glistening with fresh blood. He could hear the man’s breaths so he knew there was sound passing between them and the silence was unsettling. He swallowed and he could hear his throat click past the whir of the timer.

 

“Joe, just...talk to me...say something.”

 

A speaker in the corner crackled to life. There was a camera right beside it. _‘Hello, Detective Liebgott. Before you is your partner. You have been burned before by those you’ve trusted. Your past partners have all left you behind as they’ve climbed the ladder of success. You’ve watched them gain what you crave most -_ **_power_ ** _. Right now I give you that power. The power of saving Detective Lipton’s life.’_

 

“Joe,” Carwood panted, edging closer to the door as he desperately watched the timer. “ _Please_.”

 

_‘In your possession is the key he needs to move safely through that door. Your door requires the same key. You can choose to save his life or you can walk away before he walks away from you. The choice is yours.’_

 

“Fuck this guy, Joe,” Carwood hissed, side eyeing the keypad below the lock on the door. “Don’t let him do this to you. Whatever you did, it doesn’t matter. He made you do it.” He took a step toward the glass and Liebgott’s dark eyes followed him closely. “We’re partners, Joe. I’ve got your back. I’ll tell IAB whatever you want me to about this. I’ve never done anything to make you think otherwise, huh?”

 

Liebgott took a big breath. He looked just as adrenaline sick as Carwood and haunted. How many deaths had he seen? Had he been forced to play the same games as Carwood? Had he saved anyone?

 

A sharp thunk against the glass jolted him out of his thoughts. Scarlet smeared on the surface and metal pressed wetly to the glass. Something bloody and shaped distinctly like-

 

**3209**

 

“Who’s badge is that?” Carwood demanded even as he memorized the four numbers at the base of the badge. “Lieb, what-”

 

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

 

It was the first words Liebgott had said and his voice was wrecked. Raw, husked, like he’d been screaming. Carwood nodded in thanks and hurried to punch in the numbers as the clock hit the last forty seconds. Liebgott did the same on the other side. He stole glances at his partner and shuddered at the heavy spray of blood drying across his shoulders and arms. He looked like he’d been through hell.

 

The keypad beeped and the bolts on the doors receded. Liebgott disappeared through his door and Carwood did the same. He slammed it shut and listened to the bars slide back into place just moments before an explosion went off behind it. He could taste his heart in the back of his throat and he swore his knees were going to give out. He braced his palms on the wall and dry heaved.

 

_Ron. Just keep thinking about Ron._

 

There was a bang down the hall and he pushed away from the wall. There was a solid, tiled wall between him and wherever Liebgott had gone but there were still doors, boarded up be damned.

 

“Joe?” Carwood called as he started to jog down the hall, following the faint sounds that were escaping through the doors. He shoved his weight into each one but they were boarded up tight and seemed to be barricaded somehow. He shook their knobs and tried to kick in a few but there was no yield. And then the hallway ended. He knelt down and tried to see something through the bottom of the last door but there was nothing but a faint light. “Joe, don’t play his game! Just stay alive and get out of here! Don’t let him turn you into a murderer!”

 

But it had gone quiet on the other side. His partner was gone.

 

He pounded his fist on the door with a scowl. “God damn it, Joe!”

 

o0o0o0o

 

 _“Lieb?” Carwood called to the hunched form at the desk. His partner had been staring at a particular file for almost an hour with dead eyes and a set jaw. He wanted to go over and drag the man out of his chair for a drink, to get him to open up, but it was already late and Ron had dinner waiting for him. “Joe, you okay?”_   


_  
Liebgott grunted but didn’t move. _

 

_“I’m going to head out, if that’s okay?” He hated how green he sounded but if his partner was onto something he wanted to help. “You need me for anything?”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_Carwood stepped closer and cleared his throat. “Whatcha’ working on, buddy? Nothing I can help with?”_

 

_Liebgott closed the case and sat back in his chair, head tilted up toward the ceiling. “No. Just some CI’s file.”_

 

_“Do we need to go crack some heads?” Carwood tried to joke._

 

_“I don’t need you to crack some heads, Clifford,” Liebgott snickered._

 

 _Carwood rolled his eyes at the name. “Backup is always a good thing. I don’t need you going dark justice vigilante on me.”_  
  


_“Me? Batman?” Liebgott snorted. “Never. Don’t you worry about that. I’m more like Moon Knight anyway.”_

 

_“I haven’t gotten around to reading Moon Knight’s great adventures.”_

 

_“You’re missing out.” Liebgott stretched before turning around in his chair with a crooked smile. “I’ll wrap up here. You go home to the wife.”_

 

_“Don’t let Ron hear you call him that,” Carwood warned. He hesitated in his retreat. “When’s the last time you had a home cooked meal, Lieb?”_

_  
_   
_Dark brows waggled at him. “Why, Detective, are you inviting me home?”_

 

 _“Just saying,” Carwood offered. “Plenty of steak to go around and we’ve got a guest room if you want to stay for a drink. Ron doesn’t seem like it at first but he’s good company.”_   


_  
Liebgott shrugged, glancing back at the CI file. _

 

_“You could tell all sorts of embarrassing stories?” Carwood tempted. “And you could learn a bunch too. Ron’s seen me at my worst.”_

 

_Liebgott’s small smile tugged at his heartstrings. “Rain check?”_

 

_“Of course, Lieb. You’re always welcome.”_

 

o0o0o0o

 

The yarn picked up again but only briefly. It led him to a long corridor before it flayed into a fan, unraveled and giving way to a simple arrow. At the end of the hallway was one last door with several puzzle pieces scrawled on it. But there was something in the way. More pictures dangled from the ceiling but they hit closer to home. There was a camera but no screen.

 

Ron was through that door, he knew it. Yet his feet dragged because his eyes couldn’t quite let go of the new images in front of him. These were closer to home. These looked like roughnecks and meatheads instead of prisoners. Their faces were beaten bloody, blood on their clothes, but at least they looked alive. Missing teeth, busted lips, swollen eyes. They were from fights. The pictures that were of Ron had him in his civilian clothes and he felt something like guilt in the pit of his stomach when he saw them. His husband went out with his ‘vet friends’ just often enough to throw suspicion. He wondered if Ron was up to more but he had given him his space out of trust.

 

Now he knew what he’d truly been up to.

 

The pictures were of Ron bloody, drinking, lips pulled back in a furious snarl. Him in an alley fighting men twice his size, standing over them with raised fist. Nate starred in some of them seeming to carry Ron into a car. There were photographs through windows of Ron stitching himself up, of Nate helping. Carwood could taste bile as he sped up and started to scan each picture for the inevitable conclusion. He waited to see the pair tangled up together, to see the man he saved beneath his husband. He held his breath and anticipated the burn and sting of jealousy, heartbreak, but it didn’t come.

 

The violence was very real but there was no infidelity to speak of.

 

Carwood ripped off a few of the pictures and stormed through the door.

  
  
“Ron?”


	4. Chapter 4

_“I’m going to lose my house,” Carwood admitted on the back-hiss of a cheap whiskey shot. It had been two months since Ron had been back from combat and the bill that broke his back had come in. He cut a glance at Liebgott but couldn’t bare the man’s sympathetic grimace. “The mortgage bill came and the interest is finally kicking in. We bought the damn place before he left and I’ve been doing what I can but...fuck, Lieb.”_

 

_Liebgott passed him another shot and he took it. “And he can’t get a job?”_

 

 _“He’s not stable.” He wiped the back of his mouth. “I don’t say it to his face but he can’t work. He’ll snap. He needs time, which we don’t have, and therapy, which we have no money for.”_   


  
“The army is sure as fuck dragging their asses with his vet pay,” Liebgott grumbled into his beer.   


_Carwood buried his face in his hands with a groan. “What am I going to do? I’m fucked. I can’t let us get put on the street. We sunk all our savings into that place. It was supposed to be ours forever and all that bullshit.”_

 

_The moment weighed between them. Liebgott ordered two more beers and set the second in front of his partner. He scooted closer and Carwood grunted in protest as his hands were smacked away. “Lip, fuckin’ look at me.”_

 

 _“Lieb-”_   


_  
“Quit being a little bitch for a minute and just look at me,” Lieb snapped. Carwood’s head shot up and he scowled but bit back a nasty comment as the man grabbed him by the back of the neck. He grit his teeth as Lieb’s eyes burned into his own. “You listening?” _

 

_“Yeah, I’m fucking listening.”_

 

_“Do whatever you have to.”_

 

_Carwood’s jaw dropped. “What?”_

 

_“Do whatever you have to,” Lieb repeated with a solemn determination that shook Carwood down to his gut. “You need help, I’m here, partner. You need a hand and a blind eye? You got it. Do whatever it is you gotta do to keep that house and take care of your husband, alright? You don’t gotta’ worry about me saying shit to IAB or anyone else.”_

 

_Carwood stared slack jawed at his partner so long that when he finally took his beer it was warm. “Thanks, Joe.”_

 

_“Don’t thank me.”_

 

o0o0o0o

 

The room was surprisingly plain for how hard it had been to get to. There was clutter and dirt about an inch of dust all around, except for the area around the glass cage. It had been swept clean to make way for the mechanism. There was a mess of tubing and thick machinery on top of the glass cage and it was covered in mesh to protect from being tampered with. There were tubes feeding through the ceiling and into the cage far above their heads, sealed tight. And within the cage was his husband. His shoulders were hunched, hands braced on the glass, breathing purposefully deep to try and keep himself calm.

 

“Ron?”

 

Ron’s head shot up at the sound of his voice. His eyes were bloodshot and he was rumpled but otherwise seemed unharmed. “Carwood?”

 

Carwood ran up to the cage, ignoring the way the door slammed behind him in favor of searching the box. His hands flew over the corners as he searched for a seam or something to crack. A weakness so he could try to pry it open.

 

“Carwood,” Ron sighed in relief and exasperation. “There’s nothing. I’ve looked over every inch. It’s solid plexiglass.”

 

“Did you get a tape?”  


  
“No tape. Just tourniquets in my pocket.” He flashed the rubber as proof.

 

“Fuck.” He pounded his palms on the glass. “ _Fuck_!”

 

“There’s that as well.” Ron crooked his finger at him and led him to the other side. There was some kind of device there that jutted into each side of the cage. There were two openings, one on each side, and boxed in was a beaker on some sort of scale.

 

“This is Jigsaw, isn’t it?” Ron’s voice was slightly muffled behind the glass and he couldn’t help but wonder how much air circulation there was. “I knew it. The bastard’s made me watch you the whole time.”

 

Carwood followed his husband’s stare to the wide screen mounted on the wall. The static on it started to flicker and form into a shape. The damn doll with its vacant eyes and swirled cheeks appeared and it sent a chill down his spine.

 

_‘Congratulations, Detective Lipton. You have reached the heart of the maze. You now have all the questions. The door to this room will open in fifteen minutes. Unfortunately for your husband, in ten minutes a neurotoxin will pour into his cell and turn his blood to poison. He will not make it out that door before succumbing. He needs you now more than you need him. You have earned freedom and he has not. You will have to work together to free him. There is a device on the side of his cage that will serve as a key. Look closely, Detective.’_

 

Carwood swallowed heavily as he bent down to look into the metal holes. It was big enough to big their arms through and there was a long saw blade on the inside. There was enough of a gap between the blade and the metal to allow blood to pour through but not enough for hope to tamper with it.

 

_‘Blood is the true key. Once the beaker is full, the cage will rise and you both may walk free. You can either share the burden or allow Ron to shoulder it by himself, as he has done for so long. There is no guarantee he can survive it alone.’_

 

“You piece of shit!” Carwood howled.

 

“Carwood,” Ron tried to calm despite how hot his blood was running.

 

_‘With everything you’ve learned, everything you will learn...will you help your husband or will you let him take his chances? Have you both finally realized what is important? Or have the lies become all you are?’_

 

The screen fizzled out and the mounted timer below it came to life. Just ten minutes.

 

“There’s a switch on this side,” Ron pointed out, fingers trailing over something he couldn’t see. “If I flip it, that saw is going to start, and then…”

 

“No, there has to be a way.” He knew his words were bullshit. He’d examined almost all the Jigsaw crime scenes himself. There was only ever one way out. “Ron…”

 

“Don’t say it,” his husband pleaded.

 

“We’re going have to play.”

 

Ron growled and smacked his palms off the glass. “What the _fuck_ is this guy’s problem?”  
  
  
  
“He’s trying to teach us something,” Carwood admitted reluctantly as he eyed the saw blade through the hole. Something crinkled as he bent over and he remembered the pictures he’d shoved into the back of his pants as he’d approached the door. He whipped them out and smacked them against the glass. “It’s not like we’re not here for a reason, Ron. You want to explain this?”

 

Ron paled in the face of the images. He couldn’t deny that it was clearly him in those pictures throttling a man twice his size into the pavement, or that Nate was clearly helping some other man stitch up a knife wound in his side. “Where did you get those?”

 

Carwood let them drop. “He hung them up all over this place. There was more of you during the war.”

 

Ron audibly gagged and put his fist to his mouth, eyes clenched tight. “Don’t.”

 

“Of the men you tortured.”

 

“ _Don’t_!”

 

“You can’t deny it, Ron. There were _photos_ for Christ’s sake!” Carwood smacked his fist off the glass. “Where would he get those if they weren’t real?”   


  
Ron shook his head, cheeks pallid. “It wasn’t me.”

 

“You’re lying,” Carwood awed, that sour feeling back in his stomach. “I’ve known you for almost ten years, Ron, you can’t fucking lie to me. I’d recognize you anywhere, goggles or not.”

 

“It wasn’t _me_!” Ron spat, dropping his hand even as bile flooded his mouth.

 

Carwood steeled his jaw and he could feel his molars ache. “I met Nate.”

 

His husband’s mouth trembled and it tugged at his heartstrings. “Fick’s here? I-Is he…?” Ron surged forward and it made Carwood jump as the man’s palms pressed against the glass with a sudden thump. “Where is he? What happened?”

 

“Jigsaw made me leave him behind but he was alive when I saw him.”

 

“You _left_ him?”

 

“I had to! He was strapped with explosives, Ron, what the _fuck_ was I supposed to do?” Carwood snarled impatiently, the tick of the countdown echoing in his ears.

 

“Don’t get self righteous with me, I’m not the only one hiding things,” Ron shot back. He bent down and snatched up a folder that had been discarded in the corner. He slapped up a few of the pictures and Carwood felt his throat go dry. It was him and Nixon - taking money, talking close, exchanging files of his marks. Nixon was dressed to the nines in each picture and it made it very clear this was not Carwood’s usual business.

 

“Ron…”

 

“Who the hell is this man? There’s a pile of pictures in here of you two and a name on each one.” He flipped one of the pictures over, the others fluttering to the ground, and a name Carwood knew too well was scrawled in red along the back. “There’s a dozen names here, Carwood. Who are they?”  


  
“They don’t matter.”   
  
  
  
“ _Bullshit_.”   


  
That snapped the last threads of his control. “Maybe you start answering a few of my questions before I have to stick my fucking arm in here to free you!”

 

“Blood money.”  


  
Carwood squeezed his eyes shut, the words throwing him off. “What?”

 

Ron picked up another picture and slapped it against the cage and the words were there. “ ‘Blood money’. This is a picture of our safe, Carwood. What the fuck is in it, huh?” He turned the picture and it was indeed their living room with the safe circled in green paint. It wasn’t very subtle but it got the point across. “What did this man give you?”

 

“He gave _us_ a chance,” Carwood hissed through his teeth, temples throbbing as the seconds bled away ever closer to the end. He balled up his fists and his frustration exploded into a handful of punches against the plexiglass that split his knuckles. Ron didn’t so much as flinch and that only infuriated him more. “For Christ’s sake, Ron. The money’s _gone_. We were going to lose our house. We were going to lose _everything_.”   


  
Ron took an even breath and tossed the picture. “What did he make you do?”  
  
  
  
Carwood sucked his teeth, anger flaring up. “I had as much choice as you had torturing those prisoners.”

 

Ron’s hands balled up into fists at his side and he could see them shake. “Don’t-”  


  
“Stop! You don’t get to keep secrets anymore!” Carwood burst, lungs scraping raw as the terror of losing his husband started to claw its way to the surface. “I’m a dirty cop and you’re violent and we’re _both_ monsters. You did what you did under orders, and when you came home you couldn’t deal with it and you smashed in faces to try and feel better - I fucking _get_ it.

 

He whirled on the camera and flipped it off. “We’re pathetic liars and bad people, we know! It’s old hat, Jigsaw! You’re _boring_.” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “You want me to tell him the truth?”

 

Ron was staring at him in utter shock when he turned back to him. “I took money from a man named Nixon to plant evidence and get the people he wanted put away for life or worse. Sometimes they got killed in the crossfire. It was wrong and I regret every second of it but I wouldn’t change it because my life with you is more important than any of theirs. I did what I had to do to keep you off the street. You couldn’t go back to work like this, Ron.”

 

He chewed his lip. “I…”

 

“Look at me and tell me it wouldn’t have ended badly,” the detective challenged.

 

Ron hung his head and his fists unfurled. They both knew the truth. If he was going out picking fights then what could happen in a stressful workplace?

 

The bravado fell away and he laid his hand flat on the glass. “We had to sell the car and cut back so much...I didn’t know how much more we had left until we broke. I was only doing it until your vet money came in. Just until we could get back on our feet.”  


Ron mumbled something under his breath and Carwood wanted to slap him. This wasn’t the time to retreat. “ _Ron_.”

 

“There’s no money.” The words were yanked out from between his husband’s teeth and those dark eyes were fixed hard on the device between them. “I was dishonorably discharged. There was never going to be any money.”

 

Carwood felt his stomach bottom out and for a sick moment he forgot about the timer. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“Those men I _tortured_ ?” He swore he could hear Ron’s teeth creak from how tight they were clenched. “Sometimes I didn’t stop. Sometimes I _couldn’t_ stop. My ‘mission’ didn’t end early, I was _dismissed_.”

 

“What the fuck, Ron?” he choked out. He could feel the collapse of his carefully made plans like a fresh wound behind his ribs. Everything he’d done - the waiting, the plotting, the sneaking around, the God damn _blood money_. He’d done all of it with a clear end point in mind. “I went dirty to carry us until that money came. I was going to _stop_. You’ve been back for months and you never said anything? You lied to me all this time?”

 

“It’s what we’re here for isn’t it, Detective Lipton?” Ron spat. “ _Lies_?”

 

“I was lying to help us!”

 

“So was I!” Ron snapped back.

 

“You are so full of shit,” he accused hotly. “You were lying for yourself. All of this was for _you_ , Ron! I give you a little bit of trust and you go out picking fucking fights when you _know_ it’ll come back and bite me in the ass if you get hauled in.”

 

Ron shook his head as if to deny it, fingers skimming of the glass.

 

“Of all the reckless, stupid shit you’ve done, this fucking tops it. How long did you think you could hide this?”

 

“I wanted all the time I could get.” His husband’s even tone only riled him up further.

 

“Until _what_ , Ron?” His heart raced along with the timer. Half the time was gone already and the saw was waiting.

 

“Until you left me.”

 

The confession hit like a stone in Carwood’s gut and he recoiled. The wedding band on his finger felt that much heavier and he rubbed it with his thumb as he tried to get back his breath. “What?”

 

“I have nothing to offer you.” Ron’s eyes raised and they were filled with such sincerity that it hurt to hold his gaze. “I can’t hold down a job. The military was everything to me and now I don’t even have that. It was all I was good at. I...I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t bare for you to look at me like that.”

 

His flame had been doused and Carwood pressed his forehead to the cool glass. “Like what?”

 

“ _Disappointed_.” Ron’s mouth pulled into a thin, white slash. “Like you are now.”

 

“I’m not-”

 

“Carwood,” Ron huffed. There was irritation in his voice but the way he slid his hand along the glass to mirror his husband’s own palm was tender. “You’ve always looked at me like I’m some kind of hero. You were _so_ proud the day I told you I’d signed up for a tour. I knew that if I lost that, I really had lost everything.”

 

Carwood could feel a whine in the back of his throat and it leaked into his words. “You could’ve told me.”

 

Ron stroked the glass that separated them. “I couldn’t risk it. You’re...you’re so much to me.” He sucked in a shaky breath and raised his eyes to the tubes that would pour the neurotoxin into his cage. “Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?”

 

“That I’m a crooked cop?” Carwood snorted ruefully. “Christ, Ron, you thought I _saved_ people. How could I tell you I was taking money from some silver-spooned mob boss to make sure we had groceries? I didn’t know it’d last this long or go this far.” He hung his head as he remembered Nixon’s crooked smile and silky reassurances. “I thought I was in control. If anyone found out I’d lose my job and we’d be completely fucked.”

  
  
“Baby, if you didn’t notice...we’re already completely fucked,” Ron mock-whispered. The humor fell flat between them and they yearned for the touch of one another. He groaned and let his head rest where Carwood’s did on the glass, straining to be closer. “I don’t want to keep living like this. I’m tired of lying to you.”

 

“I’ll stop.” The words popped out of Carwood’s lips before he could think too much about it. He was surprised at the honesty etched within them. “If we get out of here, I swear I’ll stop. I’ll go back to flatfoot work if I have to I’ve just...I’ve seem so much here and I can’t keep hurting people like this.”

 

“It’s not you,” Ron swore fiercely. “You’re not a bad person.”

 

Carwood smiled weakly and met his husband’s smoldering stare. “Neither are you.”

 

He shook his head with a tight lipped smile. “The people I hurt would say otherwise.”

  
  
“Well it’s a good thing they’re not married to you, huh?” Carwood grunted, lips flicking in the barest smile. But his hands were shaking against the glass. “I want to get you out of here, even if that means you end up leaving me.”

 

“Why would I leave?” Ron snorted and banged his head against the glass. “Jesus, where would I even go?”

 

“Look where I’ve landed us,” Carwood pointed out. “I’ve gotten people killed. I ruined their lives for _ours_. Jigsaw was right.”

 

“Don’t fucking say that.”

 

“A marriage bed built on lies and blood money.”

 

Carwood flinched at the glare his husband’s glare. Even through the glass it had heat. “I don’t give a shit. I didn’t need the money, I needed _you_.”

 

“I needed you too, that’s why I did it. I would do anything to give you the life you deserve.”

 

Ron ran his fingers along the edge of the device that could house his arm and shuddered. “I don’t deserve anything.”

 

He ducked his head down to try and meet his husband’s distant eyes, the fire that had been there now flickering out. “That’s not true.”

 

“Don’t leave me,” Ron begged quietly, lashes flicking wildly as he tried not to cry.

 

“I’m no angel, Ron, but I swear I never lied about loving you.” _Three minutes._ “Did you?”   


  
“No, never. I love you.”

 

It was the first time it had been admitted so easily. The naked truth cemented Carwood’s choice. He braced one hand flat against the glass and laid the other inside the lip of the deadly slot. “Then we’re doing this together.”

 

Tears clung to his husband’s lashes and he wanted to thumb them away.

  
  
“Come on, Sparky, don’t get mushy on me now,” Carwood teased with a shaky laugh. “We’ve got to get you out of here and then we can have our Lifetime moment, okay?”

 

Ron sucked in a sharp breath and nodded. He rubbed his hand over the back of his eyes before he mirrored the position. “Together.”

 

“Don’t look away,” Carwood ordered firmly, fingers still twitching inside the rim.

 

Ron quirked an eyebrow at him with the slightest grin. “You gonna chicken out on me?”

 

“No, I just...feel like I can do anything when I look at you,” Carwood confessed softly, heart twisting at the affection that spread over his husband’s face. So much for putting off their sappy moment. He glanced at the clock and realized they had no more time to play. “Together on three. And Ron?”

 

Ron swallowed and looked at him, unsure.

 

“This is really, _really_ going to fucking hurt.”

 

“No shit, Detective.”


	5. Epilogue

_Ron could feel Carwood peppering kisses across his nape and it made his skin tingle. It was his first night back from deployment and the sun was starting to pinken up the sky. They’d spent hours together in bed - talking, fucking, breathing each other in. He was sore all over and exhausted in a satisfying way he hadn’t felt since before he left._

 

_“I’m so glad you’re back.” Carwood’s voice was hoarse but his breath was warm against his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it and it was far from the last._

 

_“Getting back to you was all I thought about,” Ron confessed quietly._

 

_Carwood curled an arm around his middle. “You’re home, safe. That’s all I wanted.”_

 

_Ron couldn’t even dig up a smile. “You’re going to regret it. It might be a while before I can get back to work.”_

 

_“Don’t worry about it,” Carwood yawned into his hair. “It’s my turn to take care of you for a while.”_

 

o0o0o0o

 

The pain was indescribable. The high pitched whine of the blade, the spray of his own blood, the throb of ice and heat that twisted to become the worst agony he’d ever felt...all while his husband’s screams echoed in his ears.

 

Ron wasn’t sure of a lot. He didn’t know when or even _if_ they’d filled the beaker until the saw stopped. He didn’t remember falling to his knees or how exactly the cage had been raised. His mind was a blur and fizzle of crackling nerves and failing endorphin rush. All he could focus on was his husband’s limp body and the growing pool of red around him. The fucking bastard had shoved his arm in farther than Ron had to try and give more blood and it showed.

 

The tourniquets in his pocket finally made sense. Ron could hear how ragged their breaths were and though the weighed jar didn’t appear deathly full they were entering early stages of hemorrhaging if he didn’t stop it. He’d taken the basic medic classes in the marines and his training kicked in within the feral part of his brain as the rest whited out from mild shock. He let his hands move on their own as he tied a tourniquet off on his own arm with his good hand and teeth, pulling it tight. He tried not to look at his torn flesh.

 

Instead he looked at Carwood.

 

“I’m here,” Ron husked. He yanked his husband into his lap and took up his arm to tie it off. Carwood was washed out and he feared the worst but he felt the breath under his nose, the thump of a pulse in his throat. He tied off the top of his arm and tried to rouse him. “Come on, baby, I’m right here and I need you to look at me.”

 

He could hear his own voice threatening to give and the pain was starting to send tremors through his limbs but he needed to see Carwood’s eyes. His own vision was tunneling and knew his husband wasn’t faring much better. He smacked the man’s cheeks, shook him, called his name.

 

Carwood stirred when a buzzer went off and the far door swung open. Ron felt a wash of relief and a fresh flow of tears when his husband’s eyes finally fluttered open. “Carwood?”

 

“We won, we did it,” Carwood slurred, head lulling in his lap. “Ron, we won, we...won, right?”

 

Ron cradled the man’s head to his stomach and stared hopelessly at the door, how far away it was. “Y-Yeah, we won.”

 

He felt Carwood go limp in his lap and he knew he wasn’t far behind. _Please God, I know I’ve never prayed before and you probably can’t even see me right now. I don’t even know if you’re there. But please, please...he doesn’t deserve this._

 

Someone appeared in the doorway and he didn’t even have the energy to jump. He squinted and tried to make his eyes focus. Blonde hair, blue eyes, bloodied lips…

 

“Ron!”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Carwood was floating. The pain was finally gone but his head was packed with cotton. He couldn’t keep his eyes open and his mouth felt like sandpaper but he was vaguely aware his arm didn’t hurt. He tried to string two thoughts together but all that came out of his mouth was a breathless whine of his husband’s name.

 

A cool hand touched his brow and he heaved a sigh of relief, pushing into it. He tried to pry his eyes open to see who it was but his lids were too heavy. He could smell antiseptic, clean and sterile. Fingertips dragged down his cheek and he could feel them catch. _Gloves_. Someone murmured his name - a man with a low, soothing voice and maybe a hint of an accent. He couldn’t focus enough to place it and he was so tired he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Something soft touched his ear as breath fanned across it, tickling the skin.

 

“You did well, Detective Carwood.”

 

He whined and tried to surface but the drugs were thick, keeping him bogged down. Blunt nails dug into his jaw between a layer of latex but it didn’t hurt. Just pressure enough to make him pay attention.

 

“Remember your lesson.”

 

o0o

 

When Carwood woke from the morphine haze the memory was already fading. By the time the nurse came in to check his vitals and tell him the cops had arrived, he’d already forgotten it. _Just a dream._

 

o0o

 

“I want to see my husband.”

 

“In a little while, Detective Lipton. We still have some questions for you about this supposed Jigsaw trap.”  


  
“There’s nothing _supposed_ about it. It was Jigsaw. I heard the tapes, I saw that fucking puppet, I know what I went through and I’ve got the wounds to prove it. I want to see my husband _now_.”

 

“If you answer our questions then we can arrange for that to happen.”

 

“ _Fine_. If you won’t let me see Ron, I want to speak to Special Agent Toye. He’s still assisting in the Jigsaw cases, isn’t he?”

 

Their hard looks told him all he needed to know.

 

“I’m not talking to anyone but him.”

 

o0o

 

Digging his heels in did the trick. Carwood had to wait in his too-quiet hospital room for nearly three hours but at least he had some privacy. When Special Agent Toye showed up all the tension melted from his body. The man was a legend on the force and Liebgott’s former partner of six years. He worked closely with their department and was usually the liaison between the police and the FBI. Usually the feds were meddling assholes but Toye had been one of them for so long that they trusted him.

 

And thank fuck he was their fed connection to the Jigsaw cases.

 

“Joe,” Carwood sighed in relief.  

 

“Hey, Lip.” Joe shut the door and hurried over, going to shake his hand but cringing when he saw the cast. “Oh fuck. So it is true. That bastard got to you.”

 

He tried to laugh but his voice was rough. “Yeah.” Joe quickly handed him the water on the side table and he smiled in thanks. He washed away the husk and tried again. “We should’ve known it was a matter of time before he started targeting the ones involved in his case.”

  
  
Joe perked up at a noise and glared toward the door. He stalked back and threw it open finding two flat foots there with detectives waiting suspiciously close. “ _Hey_. Take a walk.” The two men exchanged unsure looks and his lip drew back in a scowl. “I said fuck off.”

 

They cleared out and he closed the door, throwing the lock. When he came back he sat on the bed and leaned close, pitching his voice low. “You’ve gotta know how much of a buzz this is, Lip. It’s fucking vulture city out there and they all want a piece of you.”

 

“I can imagine,” Carwood huffed.

 

“Christ, I’m proud of you, buddy.” He couldn’t look away from his cast. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

 

“They won’t let me see Ron.”

 

Joe tisked sharply and shot another glare at the door. Joe and Ron had always got along well, they could even be called buddies of sorts. “I saw him down the hall in a room by himself. No one’s talked to him.”

 

“They don’t want to get his side?”

 

“I think it has something to do with all the glaring and silent treatment.”

 

He cracked a smile. “That’s Ron for you. Can you talk to him for me? Make sure he’s okay?”

 

“ ‘Course, I’m here for you and anything you need. I would’ve been on my way request or not once I heard what happened to you,” Joe assured him. The warmth of his voice felt like a balm on Carwood’s frazzled nerves. They went way back. If he could trust anyone besides his husband and his partner, it was Joe Toye. “I’m glad to see you’re in one piece, Lip. The department is going to shell out for everything, alright? Therapy, medical bills, compensation, anything I can squeeze out of them for you I’m gonna do it.”

 

Carwood could feel heat burning behind his eyes and he closed them to keep tears from shining. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

 

“If I could make them go away, you know I would,” Joe promised. For a moment Carwood wondered if he was being worked for information but he’d known Joe for years and he could hear the sincerity in his tone. “I’m going to protect you and Ron from everything. I just need two things from you.”

 

Carwood nodded with a tight throat.

 

“I need you to be honest and consistent,” Joe insisted, whispering in fear that ears were pressed to the door. “I need you to tell me what happened so I can do my job, and then I want you to tell me what I’m going to tell them.”

 

Carwood’s eyes snapped open. “Christ, Joe, I didn’t ask you to come here to cover for me.” He laid a hand on his cast and could only guess how fucked up he was beneath it. “I’m...I’m ready to accept whatever’s going to happen. I’m not going to lie anymore.”

 

“You’re going to lie one more fucking time because I am _not_ going to see you put in jail over this,” Joe bit out, taking his free hand and squeezing it. “I mean it, Carwood.”

 

He bit the side of his lip. “How do you know I’d go to jail for it?”

 

“Because I know Jigsaw and if he trapped a cop it was for a damn good reason.”

 

Carwood faltered under the leveled stare. “Joe, I…”

 

“You want to leave Ron alone? Is that it?” Joe needled. “You all excited to go to prison where you dump all those fuckers you pull off the street?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” Carwood glared at him and Joe cracked a grin.

 

“There’s the Lip I know and love,” he rumbled, squeezing his hand. “What were you into?”

 

“I was...falsifying and removing evidence, sometimes with targeting to make sure certain people were arrested,” Carwood confessed, both leaning in so he could keep his voice low. “I was getting paid for it.”

 

Joe’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t look too shocked. “Under whose orders?”  


  
“A man named Lewis Nixon.”

  
  
Joe got out a small notebook and pen, flipping it open with his thumb to scrawl out the name. “I’m not too surprised, he’s been under investigation for a while. Are you aware of his partner?”

 

“His husband, Dick?” Carwood puzzled. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve never met him. We’re not exactly drinking buddies.”

  
  
“Was he involved at all? Did Nixon ever say he was?”

 

“Never.”  


  
“Was Nixon aware of Ron?”

 

“Yeah. I didn’t tell him but it doesn’t take a genius to look me up. Our marriage was a little controversial.”

 

“Oh, I remember,” Joe snorted and they shared a faint smile. “So you don’t think Nixon could’ve been involved in any way with all this?”

 

Carwood shook his head. “Besides giving me the opportunity to be a dirty cop? No way. He’s smart but he’s not this smart.”

 

“No one needs to know any of that, Lip,” Joe soothed as he saw the anxious twitch of the man’s hand. “I just needed to know who I have to keep an eye on. Jigsaw’s victims always end up connected even if it’s just visiting the same breakfast diner on the weekends. If he goes missing we’ll know where to start.”

 

“It’s not even me I’m worried about,” Carwood admitted. “Ron, he...Christ, Joe, he did some fucked up shit in the marines.”

 

“I know,” he replied simply.

 

“You _know_?”

 

“And the military knows too,” Joe insisted. “He can’t and won’t be charged with any of it. That’s long settled, Lip. You were just the last one to know.”

 

The fist in his chest uncurled. “I don’t know how Jigsaw found out but he did. There’s evidence all over that fucking place.”

 

“I’ve got my men looking for the asylum Nate Fick described to us. No luck yet but when we do I’ll seize every scrap in that place,” Joe swore.

 

“Nate’s okay?”

 

“You didn’t know?”

  
“To be honest with you, Joe, I don’t remember anything after the trap.” Carwood ran his fingers over the cast with a wince. “I remember Ron holding me, talking to me, and we were moving.” He blinked hard as a half-remembered image came back to him. Rain spattered windows, hard plastic beneath his head, a needle in his arm, the back of someone’s head against a windshield. “There was a van and someone with dark hair. That’s it.”

 

“Mr. Fick informed us that he got you both nearly outside before he was attacked from behind. Apparently someone made sure all three of you were nearly unconscious before they got you somewhere safe. An ambulance was parked nearby refueling when they got the call.”

 

Carwood knew he was gaping and had to pick his jaw back up. “Are you saying Nate didn’t get us out but someone else?”

 

Joe tucked his notebook away. “You played his game and won, Lip. My money’s on Jigsaw. He claims never to have killed anyone. He wants to reform the wicked and all that. You two did what he wanted. I wouldn’t be surprised if we either find some footage of a hooded figure or no footage at all.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Carwood breathed out, rubbing a hand over his face. His temples were throbbing. He was thirsty and desperate to see Ron. He wanted to be back in his own bed with his husband and sleep for a thousand years. He huffed a mirthless laugh. “I thought he’d be taller.”

 

“Just a couple more questions,” Joe promised gently. “Is there any paper trails that could pop up and surprise me?”

 

He shook his head. “Nothing like that. It was all cash and I only used it for small, frequent purchases. Groceries, gas, and a good chunk of it is in a safe at home.”  


“If they ask for a search warrant for your house, I want you to get someone you can trust in there and get that money out.” Joe thumbed behind him toward the door. “I suggest that Fick guy. He’s a big fan of yours. The kid had to cut his own mouth open and he’s out there screaming about injustice and how you two are heroes and everyone should fuck off.”

 

Carwood snorted in amusement. “Is he really?”

 

“He’s a spitfire. He seems pretty loyal to your husband.”

 

“Ron’s lucky to have a friend like that.” He remembered Nate bound and strapped up to the rotating platform and he gagged. He took up the water again and chugged it to wash away the bile. “I’m just relieved I could save him. It was a close call.”

 

“I bet.” Joe took out his phone and flicked through some photos. “There’s two men who recently have gone missing I want you to look at. This is Deputy Marshall William Smith.” He turned the phone around and there was a picture of blonde man. “Have you seen him at all? Heard his name in the tapes or was he in your pictures?”

 

Carwood’s jaw went tight. “Are you asking me if he’s one of the people I couldn’t save?”

 

“No. But I’ll need their names.”

 

“Brian Toretto and Monica Culpepper. He was a lawyer I bribed and she was a greenhorn who stumbled across a bad scene.”

 

“Was Toretto dumb enough to leave a paper trail?”

 

“No.” His voice cracked. “The kid was sharp.”

 

“Sorry, Lip.” He tapped down the names on his phone before bringing back up a picture. When he turned it around it was a starkly different man. Olive skin, dark hair with a hint of a curl, and an intense stare that made him a little uncomfortable. “This is Merriel Shelton. He’s a special consultant for the FBI.”

 

A spark of recognition hit Carwood. “I think I’ve seen his file come across my desk before. His picture or just his name. He’s a CI, isn’t he?”

 

“Maybe.” He closed his phone. “Nothing?”

 

“Sorry. What happened to them? Fuck, they’re not dead, are they?”

 

“Just missing at the moment. Smith didn’t complete a couple check ins while they were out on a job. It’s been a few days. Shelton’s eccentric but Smith usually keeps him in line. I was just down there with them and they were getting weird notes.” Joe stood up and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m hoping they just ran off on some kind of adventure and Jigsaw didn’t get to them somehow.”

 

“Then I’ve got more bad news, Joe.” He closed his eyes and could see his partner’s blood-smeared face swimming behind glass. “Jigsaw has Lieb.”

 

Joe visibly shuddered to a stop and went still. “ _Bullshit_.”

 

“He has him,” Carwood shot back hotly. “I saw him with my own fucking eyes! He was in the middle of his own game. We literally crossed paths. It was some preplanned, trust fall shit. He had a number that would open both our doors.” He tried not to remember the gore riddled badge against the glass. “I didn’t see him again but I know he’s there. Alive or dead, he’s there.”

 

His voice trembled over the words. “Joe, he’s done something bad. He’s going to need you.”

 

Joe whipped out his phone and punched in a number. “Stay here. I’m giving you and Ron a guard. I’ll put in for a double room. I’ll get you a damn good lawyer so sit tight. Don’t even talk to your representative. Don’t say _shit_ , Lip, you hear me?”

 

He was so tired he didn’t mind sitting back and letting someone else take the reins.. “I got it.”

 

Joe gave him a nod before storming out of the room, tossing open the door and hissing away the two cops waiting for him. He felt like _biting_ the damn phone as he waited for someone to answer the phone. “Pick up, pick the fuck up!”

 

 _Click_. “Hello, Special Agent, what can-?”

 

“I need a BOLO out on New York Detective Joseph Liebgott. I don’t know how long he’s been missing but he’s reportedly held captive by a high-risk criminal,” Joe rattled off sharply, shouldering open the door with an impatient slam. “And a BOLO on one David Kenyon Webster. If he hasn’t been reported missing he soon will be.. I want them taken in on sight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on the Speirton arc, folks! Hit me up, tell me what you thought! I'm excited to see if you like it. Be on the lookout for the Webgott arc coming very soon, and the Snoosier bit, plus eventually a Luztoye arc. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Check me out on my tumblr, emono-omae, for more HBO war stuff


End file.
